


Sutures Fierce and Fragile

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Series: Live Again [2]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road, mad max - Fandom
Genre: AU, Becoming Your Own Person, Character Development, Drama, Eventual Smut, Growing Up, Healing, Mentions of Violence, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Romance, Slit lives AU, Slow Burn, Unlearning Toxic Behavior, Virgin Cheedo, character exploration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-18 21:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5943019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is the Fragile, and he is cruel, picking at scars. Once more a War Boy must unlearn in order to Live Again, and Cheedo must find the Woman behind the Wife. </p><p>My attempt to prove to myself that I’m not completely mad to ship Slit/Cheedo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fragility

**Author's Note:**

> I will confess right here and now I'm still rather wary posting this fanfic. I don't think I've *ever* written for a pairing like this. However, the story just wouldn't leave me be…
> 
> This will probably end up being the most slow-burning of the Slow Burns, but this work *will* eventually be bumped up to a Mature/Explicit rating. It's not gonna happen soon, but…it will happen.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> EDIT 2/19/2016 - Changed the title. I rarely change titles, but this one suits Slit and Cheedo's dynamic more!

One should know who they are when putting down seeds for a new life, shouldn’t they?

Cheedo finds that is something she still needs to learn, along with the endless list of everything else she ought to know. It’s hard to imagine a day when she _won’t_ be racing to catch up, reaching out for answers with futile fingers. _Cheedo the Lacking_.

She started to know herself on the Road. Cheedo the Fragile, Cheedo the Scared, Cheedo the One Who Runs Back, the girl who would cast herself at the feet of the man who would plunder her they way he had taken her Sisters, raw and merciless and bloody--

She became a different Cheedo on the Fury Road. To them she was fragile-meek-gentle, and Rictus wouldn’t have questioned reaching for such a Fragile Thing, would he?

She had tricked him, helping Furiosa. _Cheedo the Clever, perhaps?_

But that had been on the Road, and she’s back at the Citadel. And it’s different, yes, but…she feels like she’s slipping, sliding back into being the Fragile.

Maybe that’s who she is. Maybe that is who she will always be, was ever meant to be.

She likes to think now she would not run back, _knows_ that she is not a Thing, knows that she is not a Treasure to be hoarded, locked away in the Vault. The Immortan is gone, but the memory of the blood on the sheets, staining them, clings to her like sand, stinging her eyes so that tears still drip onto her hands, curled near her cheek.

She had not gone through it. Spared, just barely.

She had seen the blood on the sheets and she had heard the noises of it, and it had been enough to make her curl up in her bed, pressing desperate palms to her ears to block it all out. Joe had not liked them to make noise – had been loud enough for them, his labored breathing harsher still - and her Sisters had all told her all their different tricks of keeping silent, leaving Cheedo to wonder what hers would be. Spite? Memories? The practicality of teeth biting through her tongue?

She had not been taken. _Joe’s poison taints everything here_ , the Dag had whispered. _Makes the water swill. Turns earth sour. It infects all things, but not you. Not yet. We’re gonna be gone before that happens, Cheedo, I swear it, Furiosa said she would get us out before_ _he does_ –

The Dag had taken a beating for her to make sure she left here untouched. Her pale skin had looked like it was spattered with ink afterwards, the bruises were so bad.

Cheedo the dark and delicate, spotted by Joe. He had said she reminded him of a bird, her song sweet amongst the Wretched, her fingers fluttery, her dark head cocked to the side to take in new information. She had thought the compliment fatherly.

Then Furiosa had come, those eyes as flat and grim as the Wasteland, sent to gather. Cheedo had tried to fight but ended up begging, pleading and weeping, and she had screamed _screamed **screamed**_ –

_Cheedo the Lost_.

She had been the last Wife, new and soft and – God forgive her – _awed_ as she looked around the riches in the Vault, the books and plants, the pool full of water, _actual water._ And the other Wives –

Her new Sisters.

She had been scared, shy, wrapping arms around herself as she watched them watching her. Toast had stood off to the side, small but fierce, her eyes wary as she took in the newest Treasure of the Immortan. The Dag had looked at her with those pale eyes, her hair so silver, and Capable had been calm but cautious, her hair burning scarlet and her eyes so steady. Angharad…

Angharad had looked at her, so beautiful, so lovely and composed, the scars on her face stark against the warm glow of her skin, and she had reached a hand out to Cheedo. “You’re here now,” she had said, and her voice had not been pitying, but also not unkind. “But you’re not alone.”

Her Sisters had saved her.

She was the youngest, the newest, and they kept her as safe as they could. _Cheedo the Protected._

Time had bled on, and Cheedo would still weep at night, and sometimes during the day, but her Sisters were there. Toast helped her find crevices to be alone in, given her books to look for, told her what life she could remember from the Wasteland. Capable was warm and kind and constant, showing her how to trail her fingers over the keys of the piano to make music in a world where the wind howled against the dome of their Vault. Angharad had burned quietly, her flame bright one could be locked away, steady and strong. She had been more Mother than Sister, silk and steel combined, her eyes always seeing and her fingers always gentle when helping Cheedo.

And the Dag…

The Dag had been something Cheedo would have never thought she could find. She had been captured just before Cheedo, and was fierce and strange, with her silver hair and pale eyes and her words like sly poetry. It had made Cheedo so nervous, to hear the silver Sister blaspheme the Immortan so casually.

But then one night she had been weeping, holding back sobs that threatened to break through tight lips as violently as the wind was threatening to break through the dome of their Vault, and the Dag had come, feet soft on stone. Cheedo had been prepared for sly mocking, but the Dag had merely wiped at her tears, her fingers slender and tender.

“As long as you don’t let him see you,” she had whispered, soft as the pass of linen over skin, “this is fine. Your tears are yours to let fall.”  

After that, Cheedo had always been with the Dag, not just her Sister in captivity, but a Sister of the Heart. Some friendships need only a few words to knit tight, a few seeds to bloom. And the Dag had always had a hand at growing things.

Now they are back in the Vault, but the door is open, the lock removed. Furiosa runs the Citadel, her power felt everywhere, not a burning thing like Joe’s, but a steady and strong thrum. She does not want the title of Immortan, has said they should address her as Furiosa, but Cheedo has heard the murmurs from the Pups. _Immortan Furiosa, She Who Shredded Ol’ Joe --_

They are back at the Citadel, making their own Green Place, keeping busy with this task.

Toast has taking inventory, looking at cars and counting bullets, sometimes going down into the Sick Bay, though the Organic is no more. She has a good head for it - she is called Knowing for a reason, and she says it suits her fingers fine, keeping them busy.

The Dag has her seeds, combing pale fingers through soft dark dirt, wriggling them deep so that the tiny things can be covered up cozy. She rattles the names off to Cheedo, and they sound like poetry when she says them, whispering them to herself and sometimes to her belly where her sprog is waiting.

Capable has books and organizing and meeting with the War Boys and Milk Mothers, soft and steady as ever. She also has Nux, and they could all weep, they’re so happy for her and for him. Nux, their War Boy who came back from the flames of Valhalla, his half-life scorched, who now watches Capable with eyes as blue as the skies, as endless in their adoration –

They all have their ways of healing. They all know who they are.

Cheedo does not. All she knows is that she’s stronger now than when she left for the Road. But by how much, she doesn’t know, and nor does she know how to heal.

Does she even have a right to, since Joe did not take her?

She tries at her hand at what her Sisters have, watching them like a shy shadow, and they readily let her, know that she is floundering, not sure how to fit into this new Citadel.

She counts and sorts bullets with Toast, and it’s nice methodical work, but she forgets which bullets go to which gun – _there’s so many of them, too many of them_ – and she does not want to slow the work down. Besides, these are the anti-seeds. It doesn’t feel right to touch them.

She combs her fingers through the soft dark dirt and smiles when the Dag sprinkles some over her head, teasing that her hair is the same shade. _Perhaps I shall plant something there. Shall you carry flowers with you always_?

Cheedo likes the Garden more so than the Garages, but she does not have the same touch as the Dag for the green little things. Her sweet Sister can coax life with her pale fingers and soft murmurs, the same as she had coaxed comfort in Cheedo, but deep down Cheedo thinks she cannot make anything grow when she is so rooted in not knowing herself.

The books and the Milk Mothers are wonderful, the pages full of knowledge and the Mother’s fingers fat and soft as they guide Cheedo around, but the War Boys…they _frighten_ her, even now, they’re so loud and fierce and wild, snarling behind teeth still stained with chrome and wrangling hot and heavy engines that clang and clank and make Cheedo yearn to cover her ears.

Capable’s hand is cool and calm in Cheedo’s tight grip, and Nux is always close by. He does not like them being by the War Boys either, but will not deny Capable anything. He says they will be safe, that the Immortan’s words still echo. _War Boys Shall Not Touch The Wives_.

Cheedo sees the look that passes between Capable and Nux at the old decree, and she feels a flutter of happiness when her Sister’s cheeks stain soft pink. Even if the Immortan’s words didn’t echo, she feels that the Boys would still not touch her or her Sisters, what with the legend Nux now carries upon his shoulders and the way he watches Capable. She wonders if Nux is aware of how the Pups and Boys look at him now, He Who Returned From The Wreckage.

Cheedo watches them, sometimes, tucked in by the doorway of wherever they may be. Capable smiles when she is with Nux, and no one could wear happiness as lovely as her Sister does when with her War Boy.

But still nothing clicks, nothing grows, and Cheedo can only look at books for so long until her eyes blur.

So she then tries to heal by healing others.

Miss Giddy had books and words and whispers about medicine, and while the Organic was a wretch, he had information too, though the Sisters are loath at first for her to venture down where the Blood Bags were kept. But Cheedo tries anyway, braves that dark place in order to see. Healing might be hers, as Growing is the Dag’s and Nux is Capable’s and Knowing is Toast’s.

She makes bandages, learns to sew straight and swift, easy enough, though the idea of sewing flesh still makes her stomach clench –

She learns to set bones, wrap up wounds. That work demands her to be fast, and the War Boys _writhe_ , howl at the pain they can’t keep back, then snarl at themselves for being so _soft_ –

She wants to tell them there’s no shame in being soft. But how can she when she remembers how her feet burned as she ran across the sand to the War Boys following them to fetch them back? _Wasn’t she soft then? Wasn’t she the Fragile?_

So she keeps silent and keeps her fingers gentle and steady, and the War Boys eventually quiet their howls to look up at her with eyes full of something she doesn’t know what to call. She is sure they never looked at the Organic the way they look at her. _Do they judge her, find her lacking?_

If they do, she cannot let those judgments weigh on her, press her down into the sand and against the stone. She is no longer a Wife, will never be one again, and will try to be something other than Fragile.

For better or worse, she is Cheedo the Healer until she can knows herself better, and they will be healed by her, if not cured.

She is tending to a cut, creeping red and angry across the tender skull of one of the Pups, a tiny creature who Nux brought to her. His cheeks are still round, and when she petted his hand to soothe him he latched onto her fingers, wordlessly refuses to let go. Cheedo is attempting to put the bandage on one-handed as Nux fumbles with the Pup when shouts come down the stairs. _“NUX!”_

Nux looks up sharply as a War Boy races to him, gasping and wide eyed. “What’s going on?”

“There’s –“ the War Boy gasps again, and Cheedo sees he has lumps on his neck like Nux does, four instead of two. Small wonder his breath catches now. “There’s somethin’ – out in the Waste – we were with the Milk Mothers an’ the Red Wife, lookin’ through the glass, an’ she sent me –“

He breaks into coughing, and Cheedo settles the Pup in Nux’s arms before handing him her flask of water she always keeps here. “Drink,” she encourages.

The War Boys are still unused to being given Aqua Cola so freely, and he hesitates before slugging it down, his throat working with each swallow. He comes up for air and licks scarred lips before continuing on, his voice clearer. “The Red Wife looked through the glass an’ said you should see Nux, that we should gather a rig to go out an' look –“

“What did Capable see?” Nux says, and Cheedo is happy to know that he will never call Capable the Red Wife, never call her any kind of Wife at all.

“There’s somethin’ in the Wasteland, comin’ to the Citadel.” The War Boy’s eyes dart between Nux and Cheedo as they tense at such news. “Or at least, they were. But they look like they wreaked or somethin’, no one movin’, maybe Buzzards got there—“

Nux stands quickly, and the Pup whimpers as he hands it off to Cheedo, who presses her cheek against his baby-soft one as her heart hammers. “From Bullet Farm or Gas Town?”

But the War Boy shakes his head. “Can’t tell. Don’t know if they’ve got ammo, if they’re even alive –“

Cheedo turns to Nux, cradling the Pup tight, her eyes wide. “Nux, if they have guns and are coming to the Citadel –“

“Were coming,” Nux corrects her. Though his raspy voice is gentle to keep her calm, his eyes are worried. He turns to the War Boy. “Capable’s right, we need to scout this, get a rig out. Skarse, you’ll be my Lancer –“

The War Boy – Skarse – nods, straightens up. “How much ammo we bringing?”

Cheedo’s fists clench tight as Nux replies, “Enough to get the job done.”

He then sees her expression and touches her arm, soft. “Only if it needs to be done, Cheedo.” He nods up the stairs. “You should find the Sisters an’ Furiosa, if Capable hasn’t already."

Still holding the Pup to her, Cheedo runs up the stairs, her feet slapping against the stones in time with her heart, and for one miserable moment, she remembers how the war drums sounded, pounding like it does. _“Somethin’ in the Wasteland, comin’ to the Citadel –“_

She hurries along but spares a brief moment to nuzzle at the tender dome of the Pup’s head, who has forsaken whimpers in favor of looking confused. The smell of clay and paint and soft newness that the Garages haven’t robbed from him fills Cheedo’s nose. _Let that something be nothing. If it isn’t –_

Cheedo holds the Pup even tighter as her feet take her to Furiosa. _Let me be brave._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book "Art of Mad Max: Fury Road" states that Cheedo is the only virgin of the Wives. While I have not read the comics that tie into the movie, I've referenced a moment in them when Dag is beaten by Immortan Joe for protecting Cheedo when he contemplated taking her virginity. 
> 
> Up next, enter a certain asshole Lizard King...


	2. Wait and Wreckage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight mentions of bad wounds here, folks. Nothing horribly graphic, but just wanted to give a fair warning. As always, enjoy!

Cheedo paces the Milk Mother’s chamber, the soft pad of her feet as she goes back and forth providing a welcome mindlessness as her fingers knot and twine with themselves anxiously. _Not back yet not back yet not back –_

“Cheedo,” Capable says calmly, still keeping her eye to the glass, not moving from her watch since Nux left with his crew. “We’ll find out what’s happening soon enough. We mustn’t worry.”

“I can’t _not_ worry,” Cheedo bursts out, her fingers now gripping her arms as she wraps herself in a hug.

“Then at least don’t pace,” Toast says from her perch on the ledge overlooking the Waste, the rebuke mild. “You’ll wear yourself out, and we all need to keep sharp no matter what this turns out to be.”

Cheedo knows she’s right, knows that Toast is doing what she’s always done and that’s speaking sense, dry and logical and sound. But it’s hard to keep that in mind when Furiosa’s eyes had betrayed that stoic line of her mouth, worry flinty in already sharp green–

Cheedo knows she should be contemplating calmly, but at the moment any kind of contemplation makes her heart race. “Is there any –“

She stops, miserable, before rushing on, her words a tumult. “The People Eater, or the Bullet Farmer, they had followers to help them on the Road, but that doesn’t mean either the Town or the Farm is _empty_. There might be some who want revenge –“

“Revenge needs some concept of loyalty behind it,” the Dag says dryly, curled in one of the large chairs that the Milk Mother’s usually occupied. The Sisters have dismissed all of them as they wait for their War Boys to return, letting them all was well but to keep watch and keep wary. She turns the leaves of a book with a seemingly idle hand, though they all know she is as tense as them. “There’s no loyalty when your legacy is fear.”

Toast nods in agreement. “Look what happened to Joe.”

_Torn apart by the Wretched._ Cheedo represses a shudder. The Immortan had deserved nothing less, but it had still been awful to witness, bloody chunks of his bloated carcass ripped asunder. It was the first time Cheedo realized the other horror the Wretched truly held - not just the chance of becoming one of them, but falling prey to their fury, so long held back by their fear.

But now the Wretched have been raised, and the Citadel is no longer run by fear, though Furiosa will always be fearsome. Still…

“Everything is changing.” Cheedo slowly continue her march, her soles soughing across the stone as her mind thrums. “People can fear that too, you know that.” _I did._

She stops her pacing to look at her Sisters, dark eyes wide with worry. “Gas Town and Bullet Farm might not have loyalty, but they would have fear, wouldn’t they? So much changing, so quickly –“

“These are _good_ changes, though,” Toast argues.

“Changes are still changes,” Capable sighs, stepping away from the glass, though her eyes still search the horizon, the line of it shivery with heat. “And even misery can be a comfort if it’s part of a routine.” Her braid brushes her cheek as she turns to look at them, her eyes open and wary. “Cheedo’s right - people _are_ nervous. Even here. The new might be good, but it’s also terrifying.”

“And people do stupid things when they’re terrified,” the Dag says, leaning back on thin wrists.

Cheedo knows that she doesn’t mean it as a taunt, but it strikes her all the same, and she can’t stop her eyes from dropping down or her shoulders from hunching up or her cheeks from burning –

The Dag sits up sharply, blue eyes wide and wretched with contrition. “ _Oh,_ Cheedo, I – I didn’t – damn my tongue, I wasn’t even thinking about –“

“I know,” Cheedo assures the Sister of her Heart, even as Capable’s mouth turns down in reproach and Toast gives a scalding scowl, because if there’s anything that makes the Dag lose her silver-sharp tongue, its heart-aching sincerity. “I know you didn’t, Daggy.”

_Doesn’t change that I ran._

She takes a deep breath, reminding herself that it is not burning sand her feet walking on now, and continues on. “But…it only proves that we’re right to be nervous. Gas Town and Bullet Farm might do something like that, something out of fear.”

“Itchy trigger fingers,” Toast murmurs, tucking her knees up and resting her chin on them.

“They might blame Furiosa,” Capable says, her brow furrowing in thought.

_“Thank her_ , more like,” Toast interjects, before looking at Cheedo. “But you’ve got a point. They know she runs the Citadel now, know what she can do.”

“Or what she can become,” the Dag murmurs, her fingers tapping a sharp little drumbeat across the arm of a chair. “Another Immortan.”

_“She would never!”_ Cheedo gasps, stricken.

“And we know that,” Toast assures her, reaching out a comforting hand. Her dark eyes are still somber. “But they don’t. They still don’t know what happened out in the Wasteland, on the Road. And if the Farm and the Town decide to form an alliance and attack the Citadel as one...”

The silence after that sentence echoes off the stones, and then Cheedo sighs, gusty and wistful as the wind. “Oh, I _wish_ they would come back soon.”

“I do too...” Capable murmurs, turning back to rest her hands on the contraption, not looking through it but her eyes going far away. “Waiting like this, wondering if he’s safe...”

Cheedo and Toast and the Dag all exchange glances. Capable has been the strong and steady heart of their group, selfless in concentrating herself on helping the Citadel grow and silent about all the time it demands her to be away from Nux. If she’s letting herself say such worries now…

The last time Nux was out alone in the Wasteland, he had been under the smoldering remains of the War Rig for near three days, barely enough light in those blue eyes to show he was clinging to his half-life, bracing himself away from the gates of Valhalla in order to get back to _her_.

Cheedo walks softly to the Sister whose hair shines red-gold in the setting blaze of the sun, the Dag and Toast getting up to come close as well. Capable’s skin is warm with light, honey-sweet in the glow, but her blue eyes look inward at something that Cheedo isn’t sure she wants to know.

The Dag’s fingers touch at Capable’s wrist, where a length of leather – _perhaps a lace from a boot, a token from Nux since he wears her scarf around his wrist_ – twines around it, pressed right to her pulse. She leans her head against Capable’s, silver pressing close to scarlet. “He’ll be fine, Capable, he’ll be back.”

Capable sighs, her head dropping. “I’m being stupid, fretting like this –“

“It’s not stupid to be concerned,” Cheedo says, leaning on Capable’s other side, her hand reaching across Capable’s slim back to clasp the Dag’s hand, bracing their Sister up.

Toast edges close, gaze strong and sincere. “Nux has a good crew with him, and the rig was sound, I made sure to check. Even if they run into trouble, they’ll be able to keep themselves safe.”

“You’ve said there’s no such thing as safe in the Wasteland,” Capable says, her lips twisting wryly, but her eyes speak of a sorrow that waits patiently to return, the same sadness that had eaten their Sister into silence before Furiosa had given into their pleas to be taken back to the wreckage of the War Rig, and then they had found him –

“Maybe not, but there is such a thing as _prepared_ ,” Toast says with a quiet fierceness. Nux might be Capable’s, but he has their hearts too, if in a different way.

Capable doesn’t reply, and Cheedo knows that while her War Boy may have a crew and a rig with him, such brush with death still leaves deep bruises. She bites her lip and searches for the right words. “Nux once told me how he got his name.”

Capable looks up at that, her brow creasing, and Toast frowns at Cheedo for such seeming irrelevance, but Cheedo continues on. “He said it was because everyone said he was a tough nut to crack.” She leans her cheek against the skin of Capable’s back, nuzzling. “Any War Boy who gives up Valhalla to get back to you wouldn’t let any kind of wreak get in his way. Not then, not ever. Keep those two seeds to grow.”

There’s a moment of silence where only the wind chasing over sand and stone is heard, then Capable’s hand reaches up to grasp Cheedo’s free one, palm pressing dry and tight against hers.

Cheedo looks to the Dag and Toast, worried. But Toast is nodding, soft and slow, smiling in a way that lets Cheedo know she said the right words, and the Dag brushes a soft kiss over Cheedo’s knuckles where their hands still twine, and Cheedo’s heart is lightened, the tense knot in her gut unraveling a bit.

Then Toast looks out to the Waste and tenses. “Capable, the rig is coming back.”

* * *

They’re a flurry of linen and feet and fear as they run to the Garages. All part before them, some War Boys ducking their heads as they race past, _to look is as good as touching, and half-life eyes shall not defile the Immortan’s treasures_ -

War Boys clamber off the rig, black-thumbs going beneath immediately to see what damage has been done, and Cheedo grabs Capable’s arm when Nux appears. There’s a flash of white linen and scarlet curls, and Capable is pressing her lips to his cheek and wrapping her arms around his neck before pulling back, face tense. “Nux, did you find anything –“

" _Not a Thing,”_ Nux says, and Cheedo feels her heart clench at the look on his face, blue eyes grim and something close to distraught –

Nux continues on, twisting his head back to where the crew is unloading things form the rig, and Cheedo knows this must be bad, if Nux is so agitated even in the presence of Capable. “He’s not a Thing, but I thought he had –“ He stops, breathing hard, shaking. “We _all_ thought –“

“What is it?” Toast demands, stepping closer. “Was it Buzzards that caused the wreck?”

“Were they coming from Gas Town –“

“—Bullet Farm, was there any ammo –“

“—You said _he_ , Nux, who was it that –“

Nux’s breathing is getting harsher, and then he slams the heel of his palm into his skull, hitting _hard_ , and the Sisters jump back, Cheedo flinching as the memory of the Immortan’s fists beating down on the Dag’s long limbs burns through her–

But Capable wraps her fingers around a fist and pulls it to her, presses her mouth against his scarred skin. _“No,”_ she says, low and level. “No, Nux, you said you wouldn’t, you don’t need to hurt yourself over this—“

“I –“ Nux’s words are ragged, his eyes frantic. “I should have – if I survived the Rig, _why not him_ , why did I not think –“

“Nux, mate…” Toast comes to him, and her voice is not unkind. “Was someone out there in the Waste? In that wreckage? Can you tell us what happened?”

Nux closes his eyes and leans into Capable’s hand before his words tumble out, his chest rising and falling hard. “Looks like from Gas Town. Car was one of theirs, but can’t be sure. Might have been stolen, might have been switched to confuse their targets, it’s been done before.” He licks his lips and continues on. “There had been guns –“

_Guns. Guns and a spray of bullet pock marking the quagmire as muck and mud fly up and threaten to become blood_ –

Seeing Cheedo’s horror, the Dag grabs her hand and looks at Nux. “What do you mean _had?”_

“Attacked, got looted. Buzzards, most like. They tear things apart, make sure no one else can use it afterwards.” Nux looks back at the rig, and now that his breath is coming a bit more normally, he seems to be quivering to get back to there. “Things and people – they like to slash both.”

His face falters, crumples, and he brings his fist to his head, Capable’s hands still twining with his as he strikes himself, his voice hoarse with horror. _“By V8, why didn’t I think to check before?”_

And he’s off, running to the rig where salvaged scrap from the wreckage is now being hauled out, even though his leg was still bothering him, shouldn’t be testing himself so –

Capable runs after him, braids flying and legs flashing, “Nux, _wait!”_ \--

And the Sisters run after her, and Cheedo’s heart is pounding pounding pounding, something is wrong, something _must_ be wrong –

_Please let me be brave, Cheedo the Brave for them –_

She runs across the dirt of the Garages, stained with guzzoline and oil and scattered with spare parts, and her voice is plaintive as she races after her Sister, reaching for answers once more. “Nux, Capable, what is going –“

Her breath catches in her throat, sour with shock, coming to a stop as her entire being _reels–_

The Dag and Toast come up behind her, and as soon as they see what she’s witnessing Toast swears, harsh and horrified, and the Dag stares with those pale eyes of hers at the body being pulled out of the back of the rig, white flesh charred and scarred and bloody, the throat red and drippy with a slash and his mouth –

Cheedo wants to vomit but can’t, her body refusing to be anything but numb as she looks at the carcass that the Buzzards have deemed unworthy to pick over.

Then Nux grabs a limp arm and hauls it over his shoulder, gives them all an agonized look, his voice raw. “He lives. Please, he _lives_ , and I –“

_Lives. That charred-scarred-slashed thing lives. How?_

_Not a Thing,_ a voice whispers to Cheedo, sounding like Angharad. _They are not Things just as we aren’t._

A War Boy, then. A War Boy who Nux evidently knows and would see Live Again what with how he stares at them so pleadingly. Stares at her?

_Her. Healing. He needs healing, fast and sure, and she_ –

_Cheedo the Healer._

Cheedo moves quick, her feet already carrying her to where she has set up the healing, tried to scrub away the stain of the Organic, calling over her shoulder. “I need War Boys to help hold him, carry him, and some Milk Mother’s – Bessa, try Bessa, she knows how to stitch flesh, I still haven’t –“

Nux hollers orders at the same time. “ _Carver and Weld, to her!_ Skarse, you’re with me, help me take him—“

Cheedo whirls back to Capable and the Dag and Toast, her words quick and intent even as her heart flutters. “Furiosa will want to know about this. If they had guns and now the Buzzards have them –“

Toast nods quick and sharp and runs off, and Capable leaves to find Bessa, and the only person left is the Dag, who runs with Cheedo, legs taking long strides and eyes keen. “What do you need me to work at, Cheedo?”

“Help me,” Cheedo says, hoping she doesn’t sound too plaintive. “Keep me steady, Daggy, I don’t know if I can –“

“You can,” the Dag says, clasping her shoulder as they make their way down the stairs, her boots slapping the stone with more authority than Cheedo’s bare soles do.

Her sister looks back over her shoulder and bites her lip. “Strange that Nux wants him to live. I mean, it’s what they want, right? To go up to the beautiful blazes of shiny Valhalla? I mean, I know it’s a load of bunk, but War Boy stuff runs deep—“

“Nux has a reason, I’m sure,” Cheedo says loyally, though the same thoughts had darted across her mind too, muddying her peace like oil in water. “I think he knows him, knows him well –“

“And if good old Nux knows him and wants him snatched from Valhalla, poor burned bugger can’t be _too_ bad,” the Dag murmurs, though her dry tone and narrowed eyes say otherwise.

Cheedo still hopes that’s the case. But she can feel her body get tense as they enter the healing space, cleaned as best as it can be, and her fingers are tight as she squeezes the Dag’s hand. “We’ll do it for both of them, Nux and that War Boy. And then Furiosa will come and she’ll sort things out –“

“And will do so a damn bit more neatly than Immortan Schlanger ever did,” the Dag agrees, then sighs. “Time to make another War Boy live again. Or at least give him a nice new chrome coat before he drives the pearly highways of Valhalla.”

Cheedo hums, although in her heart she knows she had nothing to do with Nux living again. That had been Capable, the sound of her voice and the splash of her tears on Nux’s skin making her War Boy determined to get back to her. Cheedo has no experience in making War Boys live again, making them want to forsake Valhalla.

She sighs, sweeping her hair behind her shoulder as Carver and Weld rush down the stairs, babbling about Nux sent them, wants them to help the Silver and the Fragile Wives, _what should we do, what would you need of us?_

Capable managed a miracle with Nux, making him want to Live Again. As the Dag orders the Boys around, Cheedo only hopes that she has a bit of that same luck with this other War Boy.

And she prays he won’t prove to be too much of a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Cheedo, if only you knew...
> 
> Technically the Lizard King *has* entered the story. But as for a face-to-face introduction of Cheedo to Slit's…erm…*charms*, well...that shall simply have to wait. 
> 
> Comments are chrome and lovely and deeply appreciated! Let me know what you like!


	3. Charred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence ahead, folks. To be expected, what with Slit being Slit. Let me know if you think the rating for this needs to be changed. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been reading and leaving comments! It means far more than words can possibly say!

Bessa’s needle flashes silver and bright and bloody, and then she sits back heavily, sighing as she draws a fleshy hand across over her brow and the sweat that beads there. “Not fine an’ fancy needle-pointin’, but it will hold as long as he don’t do nothin’ to strain it.”

“Good luck asking that of a War Boy,” Toast observes, clearing away the now red rags and the casting an appraising gaze over the whole scene, the War Boy spread out on the table like some grotesque feast. Cheedo remembers the sight of the People Eater; the rumors about just what kind of rations were to be found in Gas Town…

She ducks her head down and takes extra care in cleaning her hands, kneading the soiled washcloth with hands that shake. She had kept steady enough during the actual work; surely now no one would begrudge her –

The Dag reaches out and gently takes the rag away from her as Toast continues on, her lips pursed as she considers the body Nux hauled back, the War Boy he was so determined to snatch back from Valhalla. “Knowing War Boys, this one will be rarin’ to go and pickin’ out all the lovely work you’ve put into him, Cheedo.”

“Not really my work,” Cheedo hastens to say. “Bessa did the stitches, I still can’t –”

She stops, has to take a quick gulp. Flesh shouldn’t be so easily torn apart, sewn together, needles stitching in and out of meat –

 _Cheedo the Tender Stomached._ She had been able to stay strong during the act, though she had been busy treating his burns while Bessa had sewed. Still, she collects herself and nods deeply to the once Milk Mother. “Bessa, thank you so much, you were wonderful.”

“Absolutely brilliant,” the Dag adds, and Toast quickly nods.

Bessa clucks her tongue, but her dark eyes are shine with a pleased light, and Cheedo’s stomach in somewhat soothed. Furiosa had told them, her voice low but her eyes frank, just what needs to be done in order to keep the Citadel theirs – change and growth, and most of all recognition.

“The Immortan would have the people here as either battle fodder, cogs, or masses to rule over,” she had said, those eyes of hers so clear and cool. “We must have them as people, praise them as such.” Those eyes looked across at the other towers of the Citadel, and then her gaze had gone inwards, someplace dark. “It’s humanity that people forget first when building empires.”

“We won’t build an empire,” Capable said, low and fierce as her hair burned scarlet-soft in the shadows of the chamber they had gathered that first night back, the once Wives and the once Imperator.

“We will grow,” the Dag vowed, her fingers sifting through the seeds in the skull she cradled. “Soon this won’t be the ruddy Citadel, but a new Green Place.”

So now they praised all who helped, and Cheedo finds it easy to do, especially with the work that Bessa did here, stitching him so neatly, not disturbing him at all. Although he may be too close to death to even feel the needle looping in and out of him…

She is cautious when she approaches the Boy, breathing oh-just-very-barely, the air rasping over rough lips, through that jagged, deep scar –

Cheedo lets her eyes dart away, quick and nervous as her heart, but Toast leans forward, her eyes curious though her face is determinedly cool. “Wonder who he is? If Nux risked Buzzards coming back to pick over the Rig in order to haul him back –”

“Cheedo reckons he knows him well,” the Dag opinions, and Cheedo raises a shy shoulder in a shrug of confirmation. “Thinks he must have a good reason to keep him away from Valhalla.”

Toast snorts. “Here’s to hoping that when he wakes he won’t be too sore about that.”

“Nor about his nice little stitched necklace,” the Dag murmurs, dry as sand.

“If he wakes,” Cheedo whispers, and her Sisters look over at her, eyes both dark and pale widening.

Cheedo can’t stop her head from dipping down, hair falling over her face, a dark waterfall, her fingers starting to twist like her heart. “I…I tried my best with the burns, but we don’t know how long he was out there, and if what I did wasn’t _enough_ and Nux –“

Her voice breaks, and she closes her eyes against the imagined sight of Nux’s eyes, blue and betrayed.

The Dag and Toast move to her, hands reaching soft and concerned, well versed in comforting the most tender of their numbers, but it is Bessa who speaks first. “You did damn well today, girl. Worked steady, worked fine and fast. If this boy fades on you, it’ll be through no fault of your own.”

Cheedo still keeps her head ducked, though now it is to hide how her cheeks flame at such praise, and Bessa claps the solid weight of her hand to Cheedo’s shoulder in a friendly clasp – _in the history of the Citadel, Milk Mothers and the Wives had good relations, the Immortan using both for their bodies_ \- before she looks back at the War Boy, narrowing her eyes. “As for him bein’ fussed about them battle wounds,” she muses, “War Boys ain’t the type to get burned about that. This one ain’t no stranger to scars, that’s certain as stone.”

“I know some of the Milk Mothers had had their babies taken to the War Boy barracks,” Toast says, her voice soft as she looks at Bessa. “Does he look like –?”

But Bessa shakes her head, eyes going flat. “Too old to be any babe of mine,” she says shortly. “Though once they were taken, it was best to forget them. The Immortan made it plenty clear that we weren’t to be lookin’ for certain features amongst his battle fodder.”

Silence after that speech, the Dag and Toast looking down. Cheedo wishes she could say something to comfort this woman, but words never came quick to her as they do with the Dag, and if Daggy is silent –

She busies herself by looking at the War Boy. Too old to be Bessa’s babe, and yet not as old as Furiosa. Though his body is charred in many places, gashed and patched, Cheedo can see he’s strong, strong and scarred in typical War Boy fashion, body pale with paint. His forehead is blackened with some kind of grayish grime, and Cheedo wonders if that means something like Furiosa’s grease did, once upon a time. There’s still so much she doesn’t know…

Without even being aware of it, Cheedo finds her hand hovering over him, fingers for once not fluttering as they trace the air above his split mouth. “So no one knows him?” _To be so alone, so close to death, so many War Boys lost to a faceless mass all chanting the Immortan’s name –_

The Dag takes Cheedo’s hand in both of hers, curling her fingers and tucking them tight before they can slip. “Nux does, probably,” she reminds Cheedo, her gaze a comfort. “Furiosa might too.”

“If Furiosa knows a War Boy…” Toast says, almost to herself, “…that might not be the best sign.”

Cheedo’s heart clenches at that, but Bessa merely gives a thoughtful sniff before heading off, her fat feet slapping the stones of the stairs. They watch her go before the Dag looks around the room, pale eyes darting. “D’you think we should keep him here? If he wakes up –“

“He’ll find himself back at the Citadel,” Toast finishes, her eyes cutting over to Cheedo. “Back in what used to be the Organic’s chop shop. He might think the old butcher is still here, with all his knives–”

“And get violent,” the Dag mutters, her eyes now back on the War Boy. Too many War Boys have hesitated going down these stairs for Cheedo to doubt the possibility of such words becoming true.

The Dag continues on, her eyes narrowing and her fingers tugging a silvery strand in thought. “Really ought to think of a new name for this place. Cheedo’s Chamber has a nice ring–”

“Daggy, don’t tease,” Cheedo scolds, and then flushes pink as Toast grins at her pet name for the Sister of her Heart. Words tumble out of her, embarrassment making them stutter and stop. “I – I mean, I don’t _deserve_ to have my name brought into it – make it about _healing_ , not about _me_ –”

“The Healing Hold?” The Dag holds up her palms, letting invisible weights push them up and down. “How’s that?”

 _“Shine,”_ Toast says in a truly terrible imitation of Nux’s voice, and the Sisters find themselves in a rare moment of laughter, and how can laughter still exist in a world of dirt and dust and rust and blood?

She goes to get a blanket from one of the shelves they’ve set up, wrapping it around herself and settling onto one of the benches cut into the stone of the Citadel. She tried not to yawn in her Sister’s faces – _late, it’s so late_. “I’ll stay in the Hold with him, keep a watch on him until Furiosa is here.” _To give her judgment._

Toast nods, and then clasps a hand at Cheedo’s shoulder like Bessa did. Her dark eyes are sincere. “You truly did do fine and fast work today, Cheedo.”

“Shine _and_ chrome,” the Dag says, her impression their War Boy much better than Toast’s. She then pauses, before stroking a hand over the crown of Cheedo’s skull. “Angharad would be proud of you.”

The Dag had always had a way with words, planting sweet seeds and coaxing warmth and pride into growth, even in the sour soil of exhausted insecurity.

Cheedo leans her cheek into her Sister’s palm, letting her feel how her smile curls. “Thank you. I’ll come and get you if anything happens.”

Her Sisters leave, and Cheedo is left to watch over the War Boy, only the barely-there rasp of his breath letting her know he hasn’t gone quite yet. After a moment, she gets up and takes another blanket and drapes it as carefully as she can over him. Sore and scarred couldn’t be helped, but she can do something about shivers.

Feeling a bit better, Cheedo settles back down upon her makeshift bunk and tries not to let her eyes get too heavy as she waits for Furiosa and all that will come. _Let it be welcome._

* * *

But Furiosa’s visit does not bring welcome, does not settle and soothe senses. She walks into the Hold at an hour that’s between night and day, steps strong as ever as Capable and Nux follow her, but stops still when she sees the War Boy. “I know this War Boy.”

She lifts her gaze to Nux, and though her expression is collected, controlled, there is a sharp gleam of something in those eyes of hers that make an intense twist of unease go through Cheedo, making her stop blinking her eyes blearily. _Worried. The Imperator is worried._ “Why did you bring him back?”

Her voice is the calm of the water would take before the Immortan would release it in churning streams, and Nux looks wretched, torn between the piercing gaze of Furiosa and watching the slow rise-and-fall of the War Boy’s chest. His throat works. “He – Imperator, please, he’s my Lancer, I couldn’t just – the Buzzards would have come back –”

“And finished him off, taken him and gutted him and strung him up like all the other War Boys who wander into their patch,” Furiosa nods, and her eyes get a flatness to them as she looks back at the War Boy. “And we wouldn’t have had to deal with what this may bring.”

Nux flinches, and Furiosa looks back up at him, flatness fading from her gaze. “You aren’t wrong to rescue, Nux,” she says, and her voice is not unkind. “I just don’t know what will happen when Slit wakes, what this shall mean for us.”

 _Slit._ The War Boy has a name now. Cheedo steps closer, her eyes wide and curious as she examines him. Such a name is appropriate, what with his scar. _Did his name come before or after–?_

Toast steps up to the table, gazing at Furiosa and her brow furrowing in that way it does when she’s wanting answers. “Was he so bad?”

“Slit was Slit,” Nux rasps, his eyes still on the charred flesh and scars that make up his old Lancer. “He was on the Road after you, just like I was–”

“I heard things from other Imperators, from Ace,” Furiosa interrupts, looking more and more grim. “Said he was a good Lancer but kami-crazy, extreme—”

“So did I, so was I,” Nux says, and he’s _begging_. “We all did, we all are, _were_ , all War Boys were like that, Slit just –”

“Why was he heading over here from Gas Town with ammo? What was he planning to do? If he’s loyal to the memory of Joe…” Furiosa shakes her head, crossing her arms with a soft grind of gears. Her voice is low, worry like silt weighing it down. “Nux, he could be dangerous.”

Cheedo wraps her arms around herself at that, her breath catching fast. _Dangerous._ She has healed someone _dangerous_ , someone that has Furiosa worried, a War Boy who stood out from the masses because of his – his _extremeness_ , which now could threaten the fragile seeds of all that they’re trying to grow –

Voices are being raised, and Cheedo flinches, her hands going up to her ears. _The Dag raising her voice to Joe, making his hand raise before descending in a blow that knocked her down, all her fault_ —

“—No unnecessary deaths,” Capable is saying fiercely, holding Nux’s hand tight. “We can’t let all of Angharad die, remember what she said–”

“This one might be necessary, if what Furiosa says is true,” Toast murmurs, her eyes surveying the War Boy with a dispassion that chills Cheedo.

Nux recoils as though hit, and Capable’s voice is a hard and blazing thing, red-hot iron. _“Toast!”_

Toast swears and brings a hand up to her eyes. “Nux, mate, I didn’t – I’m sorry, but if Furiosa is worried –”

“I am,” Furiosa says, cool and calm. “But not enough to call for a death.”

Cheedo bites at her lip. There might not even be a need to call for that, who knows if her healing will help at all –

The Dag looks at her, reading her body and now it is she who worries at her lip, teeth catching at the flesh. “Cheedo said there’s always the chance he might not survive –”

“But you tried,” Nux says, and all of them pause in their worry at the sound of his voice, thick in a way that has nothing to do with the two bumps gnawing away at his windpipe, ragged with desperation.

His eyes – large, blue, beseeching – gaze at Cheedo pleadingly. “You did try, Cheedo?”

And that decides it, even though she’s still scared. Nux has been given so little in his half-life, she cannot deny him this.

“I did, and I will,” she promises him, her voice a strange sort of shaky strength, trembling and tough. “I’ll try everything to heal him, Nux.” She looks at her Sister’s, her voice soft. “Angharad would want me to. We are not Things, and neither are War Boys.”

Capable’s eyes gleam wetly as she nods at Cheedo’s words, and the Dag echoes the gesture, though her expression is a bit more wary, verging on wry. Toast dips her head down and sighs, before looking up into Cheedo’s eyes. “Angharad would want you to,” she agrees, soft and sincere and strong. “And if he proves to be too –”

She stops and sighs again before looking to Furiosa. “We’ll trust you to make the call.”

“And I’ll look to all of you for advisement.” Furiosa’s eyes go to Nux, and there’s a soft sort of desperation to them, something that wants to reassure. “All of you. You know him, Nux. You know what he can do, more than any of us.” She pauses, and then sighs. “We wait, keep eyes on. Take our turns watching him, keep the other Boys and Pups away. At the very least, the rest will help him heal and help us plan.”

Nux’s eyes are thankful, and he bows his head deep as Capable keeps his hand tight with hers, and Toast and the Dag accept the judgment, though both of their eyes are still wary.

Cheedo isn’t sure how to feel anything other than a mess of emotions, a confusion of feelings. She looks down at the table, at this Slit who still sleeps, somewhere between the highways of Valhalla and the rust and dirt and dryness of this world. There is nothing on his face, nothing but slack features and paint and that jagged slash of a scar that makes her tremble. Nux has scars; all War Boys do, but nothing like this. _Who did such a brutal thing–?_

Brutal is what War Boys know, kami-crazy and quick. They have no need for soft sleep, tender touches. And if this Slit was so extreme to stand out –

_Nux has his reasons. Trust him._

Cheedo sighs, soft and unsure. It was so easy to trust when things were calm, when the growth of the Citadel was slow but steady. “I can take first watch –”

“No Cheedo,” Furiosa says, almost kind. “You’ve done enough. You did fine healing, cared for him well. Now you need to care for yourself, get some sleep.”

“I’ll take the first watch,” Nux says immediately, and Cheedo knows that he’s probably been running himself ragged with more inexplicable guilt over not going to the Waste sooner. _How could he have known?_

“We’ll figure the rounds out,” Capable promises, and then looks around the Hold. “Cheedo, Furiosa is right, you need to rest. Toast and the Dag and I will restock your supplies the best we can—”

Cheedo doesn’t like to be away from her Sisters, but her eyes are blurring and she knows she cannot argue against the united force of them and Furiosa. “You’ll come and get me if anything changes?”

“So sworn,” the Dag promises, and then shoos her off, hands batting the air. “Sleep sweet, Cheedo of Dark Circles and Healing Hands.”

Even Furiosa gives a soft exhale of laughter at that, and Cheedo smiles sleepily. “I’ll be in the Vault.”

She pads up the stairs, exhaustion dulling her nerves and making the trudge of her feet heavy, but not before she looks back at the War Boy still stretched on the table, her blanket still covering him. The thought comes unbidden. _Sleep sweet, Slit_.

She quickly turns away and concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other, a confusion of feelings in her at such a thought. She shouldn’t – she oughtn’t, he’s a War Boy, and apparently a dangerous one.

 _Nux is a War Boy_ , the echo of Angharad whispers to her. _They are not_ –

Not Things, yes, but…still. She must be sharp, must keep eyes on. Besides, Nux is known, Nux is sweet. Nux is simply Nux. She barely even thinks of him as a War Boy, and this Slit –

Another echo of words, now Furiosa’s. _I couldn’t use your names. As soon as you use someone’s name, know it, them…something can form between you. And if something happens to them, it becomes another thing to mourn. Max…Max knew that._

But Cheedo can’t go back to not knowing, not when she’s trying so hard to learn. So instead, she bites her lip and tacks on another thought, worry still in her heart even if exhaustion reigns. _If you can’t sleep sweet, then please wake sweet._

* * *

He keeps sleeping, for days on end. Cheedo wonders if it’s something more, but Furiosa won’t let her poke and prod at him unless she absolutely has to. “The Pups are already swarming at the door of your Hold to see another He Who Returned From The Wreckage, we don’t need any more disturbances,” Furiosa says grimly, and Cheedo thinks it’s still so _odd_ to hear Nux called that, even if it is true.

So they wait and keep watch, Capable’s turn now. Nux is anxious enough as it is, waiting for his Lancer to wake, but having her away –

“She’ll be fine,” Cheedo soothes, touching his hand. “She’s earned her name for a reason, Nux.”

“Capable,” Nux nods, fingers still tangling the fabric stretched between them. He was in the Garages, but the Pups pester him for information about Slit. Cheedo believes that it’s easier for him to deal with Capable’s absence when he’s in the presence of one of her Sisters, and so has him rolling bandages with her. “Capable is capable, and chrome can’t compare.”

Cheedo smiles. It is good, she can’t help but think, that the devotion and adoration that come so easily to Nux has found a worthier recipient than the Immortan, that her Sister has such support. A War Boy and a Once Wife, an odd match but a good fit, gears locking sure and strong.

She’s about to say as much – Nux deserves to hear praise, and she can’t imagine he is used to it –

But then the Dag runs into the room, pale eyes wide and silver hair flying out of her plait. “CHEEDO! NUX! HE’S WAKING, WE NEED HELP—”

And Nux drops his bandages as he tears off, his bad leg once again forgotten in his haste, and Cheedo scrambles to pick them up –

But the Dag tugs on her arm, eyes almost wild. “Leave ‘em be, Cheedo, we need you there!”

_Cheedo the Healer. God, how horrible is it?_

Cheedo takes a deep breath and runs after Nux, her heart thudding in time with her feet.

* * *

Slit is bucking and writhing upon the table, jerking and twitching, and Capable and Toast trying to hold him back, hold him down, Toast barking something about restraints.

 _“No!”_ Cheedo cries, dashing into the Hold. “No, if he wakes up restrained he’ll think he’s under the Organic’s blade, we can’t –”

Nux charges in, nearly knocking her down. “I had to go get Furiosa, let her know—”

Slit’s eyes are still closed but his back arches and a _HAURGH_ sound comes deep within his chest –

The Sisters all recoil as something spatters out of his mouth, something black and sour smelling, dribbling out of the side of his mouth, out of his split scar, and Nux curses, heart-sore and helpless. “His windpipe, must have been charred from the wreck–”

It could have been blood. It still might be, if he continues to writhe and get his stitches loose. They need to clear his throat, they need to –

 _“Water!”_ Cheedo commands, and a canteen is slapped into her hands. “Capable, Toast, have him sitting up.”

“Difficult to do,” Toast grunts, but despite her small size, she’s strong, and soon the War Boy is upright, and Cheedo scrambles upon the table, “Nux, _please,_ help me tilt his head back –”

Nux does so, and Cheedo slides fingers that desperately want to shy away from that jagged, cracked ruin of a mouth into the seam of his lips, pushing them open—

The water pours past teeth stained black, dribbles out of his scar, but most of it goes down, and then he _chokes_ –

 _“Flip him,_ he needs to get it out–!”

Cheedo doesn’t know if she should slap his back, force what she can out of him, she’s never done anything like this before—

Nux decides for her and hammers on the War Boy’s back, fists pounding and eyes frantic, and black bile spatters wetly across the floor–

Furiosa enters the room, eyes alert and body taut. “Are we losing him?”

Slit convulses, knocking Nux back, and Cheedo only just manages to cling to the table, her grip white knuckled. “No, but if he keeps moving–Furiosa, _his stitches,_ they might–”

And then with ragged, rasping gasp, the maw of his mouth great and gaping and black, the War Boy’s eyes fly open, wide and disoriented and –

His body flails again, his limbs strong and heavy, threatening to knock Cheedo off in his panic, for it is pure and utter animal panic in his eyes—

Cheedo does not grab the table this time, but his shoulder, her cry close to a plea. _“It’s okay!”_

He still thrashes, and Capable and Toast and the Dag move forward to get her away, save her, but Cheedo merely holds his shoulder tighter – _hard as a rock, the muscle under the painted flesh coiled tight as a wire, a snake_ – and, only thinking to steady him, bring him back, she palms his jaw, holds his face.

“It’s _okay,”_ she says, and she’s not sure if she’s trying to convince him or herself. She hurries on, soothing as she can be though she’s close to sobbing from the stress of it all. “You’re alright, you– you _live_ , you live again–”

His eyes stare at her, still wide, and oh God, something’s _wrong_ with them, they’re mismatched, one is scarred over and red and filmy, _can he even see out of it, see her—?_

His breaths are still heaving, raspy pants, and his voice sounds like gravel churning, like scraping metal. _“Live…?”_

Cheedo doesn’t trust her voice, she’s so thankful for this sign that he’s returned to his senses, and she sticks to nodding, her eyes getting wet as everything overwhelms her, the rush of it all, the panic and stress, the relief, _he’s made it, he made it through, she didn’t end up killing him–_

Those strange eyes blink, then slowly look around him, tracing the rocky ceiling of the Hold. “I…Citadel? Back?” His voice is so rough, so charred, and some of the animal wariness returns. “Blood Bay?”

“Healing Hold, now,” Toast says, her eyes just as wary as she approaches the table, slow and measured. “The Organic can’t claim it no more, what with being scraped.”

“Cheedo healed you, War Boy,” the Dag says, her voice edging on sharp. “Saved your half-life. Best start thanking her, when you’re up to it, no rush–”

 _“Dag,”_ Capable says, soft and warning. “Hold. He’s just woke up.” She approaches the table as well, her eyes steady, her face serious. “You are back at the Citadel. We found you in a wreck out in the Wasteland. You’ve been out for a fair stretch of day, ten or so. You had a slashed throat, but it was fairly shallow and we were able to get it stitched up with help from a Milk Mother.”

At that, a hand flies to his throat, pressing fingertips to the bumps of the stitches there, and he grunts.

Capable continues on, crossing her arms, and Cheedo knows that though she will not show it, her Sister is nervous. “Cheedo was able to heal you as best she could –”

The War Boy – Slit – looks up sharply at Cheedo, and then at Capable, Toast, all of them. That horrible mouth parts once more, lips stretched so wide and rough. “The Wives. All of you—”

“Made it back to the Citadel,” Toast says, crossing her arms, almost a challenge.

“Dear old Daddy Immortan didn’t,” the Dag finishes, her eyes narrowed as she watches his face at such news.

There’s no shock, nothing to indicate a shattering of faith. He merely grunts again, his breath low and rough, and Cheedo suddenly realizes she can _feel_ it, feel the in-out rasp _through the scar_ , the metal of his staples warming against her fingers.

She hastily withdraws her hand, wants to wipe it but tucks it into her linen skirt. His eyes track all her movements, his brow lowering before he lifts his gaze back to her, hard and merciless. _So he can see just fine, fine enough to judge her._

Cheedo scuttles back, her cheeks flaming in mortification, trying to think of something to add to her Sister’s words. “We – we’re controlling - _leading_ the Citadel now – I mean, Furiosa is, we’re – we try to help, try to make it new and better—”

She waves a hand back to where Furiosa stands, tall and seemingly at ease, her metal hand flexing as she watches him, and he looks at her, his brow lowering further—

And then his eyes see Nux. They go wide, very wide, and then—

They narrow, the thinnest of slits, and his split mouth is pulling back over his black teeth, baring them, and then it’s like there’s an engine revving, a growl coming deep within him as he tenses on the table—

Cheedo looks back at Nux, utterly perplexed. Nux steps to them, holding out a hand, in supplication or warning, she cannot tell. His face is wary. “Slit—”

With a horrific roar of rage, the War Boy lunges at Nux, knocking Cheedo off the table as he takes him down.

Cheedo’s elbow hits the ground in a way that makes it go sickeningly numb, making her gasp. The Dag rushes to her as Toast and Capable and Furiosa all leap to Nux’s aid, all yelling, all pulling at the War Boy’s hands as they latch upon Nux’s neck.

Cheedo stands up, legs shaky and senses disorientated, and the Hold is echoing with so much noise, yells and shrieks and roars –

Toast claws at the War Boy’s back, Capable tries to wedge herself between him and Nux, and Furiosa is yelling for backup, but the loudest of all is this Slit, banging Nux’s head against the ground, each thud punctuated with a roar, _you filth you scum you traitor you bastard –_

“– SON OF A MILK MOTHER WHORE, FUCKING FILTH, TRAITORED US, TRAITORED ALL OF US–”

 _“Slit,”_ Nux gasps, eyes tearing up, voice so raw as this War Boy he was so determined to save, to heal, chokes his half-life out of him. _“Slit, I’m sorry–”_

“I TRUSTED YOU!” Slit roars into his face, his black split mouth gaping, and the look on his face is one Cheedo knows, the same one the Dag had when Cheedo had called to Rictus to take her. _Betrayal._

Raw and burning, agonized and angry to truly terrible heights –

“I TRUSTED YOU, WE ALL TRUSTED YOU – YOU’RE ONE OF US, WERE ONE OF US, AN’ YOU TRAITORED IT, TRAITORED EVERYTHING, YOU SCUM, YOU MEDICORE FILTH, BLOODY BUZZARDS HAVE MORE HONOR–”

Cheedo almost sways, she’s so horrified. _So much rage_ —

“COULDN’T LET ME GO WITNESSED, HAD TO TAKE VALHALLA AWAY TOO, HAD TO BLOODY HAVE THAT AS WELL YOU BASTARD, THROWIN’ IT IN WITH HER AIN’T ENOUGH, YOU SCUM, YOU FILTHY FUCKING-“

His raging is cut off with a sudden sputter, and his fingers fall away from Nux’s neck to claw at his own, Furiosa’s metal fingers clenching tight and merciless, and her green eyes are cold and keen.

Slit gives horribly strangled noise like a thwarted snarl, and as Toast and Capable drop immediately to look at Nux, cradle him up, Furiosa throws him against the wall, his body thudding against the rock, _hard_.

The Dag runs to Nux as well, and Cheedo recovers herself enough to follow, tripping over her feet as she falls to her knees, cowering behind Furiosa with the rest of her Sisters as they frantically check Nux, their War Boy. If he’s been hurt—

He chokes and sputters a bit, but waves a hand. “’M fine.”

Capable, white faced and eyes blazing, grabs it and he winds the other through her hair, his voice raspy but his words clear enough. “S’okay, Capable, I am—”

“You touch Nux again,” Furiosa says, calm and low, pinning Slit with her gaze and a gun that of _course_ she would have, “I kill you.”

He snarls at her, lips drawing back over stained teeth, and Cheedo wants to sob, his rage blisters so. “Think you can, think you have control,” he rasps, mismatched eyes slitting in pure venom. “Just ‘cause you have filth-traitors like him throwin’ their lots with you, don’t mean nothin’-”

“You're behind the times, mate,” Toast retorts, her eyes and voice hard and blazing. “Furiosa has everyone’s support, the War Pups and the War Boys left behind, the Wretched and the Milk Mothers –”

He gives another snarl, and Cheedo is horrified when she realizes _that’s his laugh._ “True bunch of fighters, bunch of battle fodder, you won’t last at all–”

“Wives carry weight,” the Dag spits, standing over him, the silver of her hair scorching. “We stand with her, and we lifted the Wretched. You touch Nux again, we throw you to them.”

It says something about the graveness of the situation that Capable does not contradict her, her normally steady eyes blazing bright as she looks at Slit. They soften as they turn to Nux, still slumping in her arms. “Nux…you’re bleeding.”

She’s right, there’s a gash on his head from where his Lancer had been smashing his head against the stone, the blood a bright and jolly red—

 _“Good,”_ Slit spits.

Capable gives him another burning look and then pulls Nux up with her, and he doesn’t resist her, can only let her handle him as he looks at Slit, his eyes so sad. “Furiosa, I need to – please, let me take care of –”

“I’ll come too,” Cheedo says, standing so fast her head spins sickeningly. But not as sickened and sore as her heart feels. _Oh God_ , what have they done, what have they wrought with this, with healing him, _she healed him, healed him so he could attack, all her fault_ –

Furiosa looks up sharply, and Cheedo can’t keep her desperation out of her eyes, out of her face. “I – Dag and Toast can help you, please, Furiosa, let me –Nux, he needs to be—“

_Please, Furiosa, please, I’m only so strong, I can only be so strong and he scares me, don’t make me stay –_

Furiosa nods, slow and calm, her gun still on Slit and her eyes understanding. “Heal him, Cheedo. Toast, go get some War Boys in here, Skarse and Talon and Shucker, tell them I need them sharp, the Dag and I can hold him here –”

“No unnecessary deaths,” Capable reminds them, but her voice is flat now instead of fierce, and Cheedo shivers. _Oh God, if Capable is –_

She looks back, wanting to catch the Dag’s gaze, wants a look that will promise everything will be fine—

And finds herself inexplicably distracted by the jump of the line of stitches that march across Slit’s slashed throat. Healing, but…

“If his stitches get loose…”

They all look at her sharply, Furiosa’s eyes narrowing and Toast and the Dag’s brows raising. Even Slit furrows his black brow, looking at her as though he’s never seen anything quite like her.

Cheedo flushes and finishes her thought in a mumble. “You…you should go get Bessa. I still can’t stitch flesh.”

They still stare at her as if she’s mad, and Cheedo gives a half-shrug of misery. “You…you’ll need him alive when you question him about the car and the guns, won’t you?”

Furiosa’s gaze clears, and she nods. “Smart. We’ll get Bessa if that happens. You go now, Cheedo, Nux and Capable will need you.”

 _They’ll need her._ Cheedo sighs as she goes up the stairs, her steps as heavy as her heart. Nux and Capable need to be alone, she’ll cling to the shadows and let them have their privacy, be only a pair of hands that passes Capable bandages.

What they really need is a miracle. Healing something only to have it turn of them –

_Not a Thing._

Cheedo flinches, and rubs at her arms, remembering that animal wariness, that wild, burning rage, so inhuman. _Wasn’t he?_

She’s not being fair, she doesn’t know what will happen. _But oh, after that…_

Cheedo hugs herself, her arms trembling and her heart low as the sight of those mismatched eyes, full of fury, burns against her skull, and that gaping mouth twisted in a betrayed bell bellow echoes in her ears. _Charred with betrayal, burning with vengeance, bitter and black…_

What have they brought upon the Citadel?

What have they brought upon themselves?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy…told you Slit was gonna be in rare form when he woke up. 
> 
> Comments are as sweet as Aqua-Cola!


	4. Calm and Recover

The days stretch on after that horrible awakening, and Cheedo feels a wretched sort of thankfulness that they are granted a respite from such _savagery_ , such blistering _rage_.

At least, she sees as a respite. Nux…

 _Poor Nux_ …

His throat still carries Slit’s marks, dark gray and purple all the more vivid. It’s not an angry red, but Cheedo knows an even greater wound has been inflicted on him.

“’M a fool,” she hears him murmur to Capable late one night in the Vault when she’s curled up against blankets and the Dag’s growing little bump, reaching for sleep so as not to spy on her Sister and her War Boy. “I…I don’t know what I thought would happen, ‘course he’d be full mad, I took Valhalla away –”

“You rescued him, Nux,” Capable says firmly. Cheedo can easily picture scarlet strands falling soft over warm and unwavering eyes. “That’s what you did, only that. If he can’t see that –”

“He’s gonna stay angry,” Nux says, low and hoarse, and Capable falls silent. “When Slit gets his head on anger…Morsov, Morsov once tried to poach a kill from him when they were training, an’ Slit…he didn’t let go of it, he always burned hot an’ heavy to see Morsov mediocre. I –”

Nux’s voice cracks, and Cheedo clutches her blanket at the agonized uncertainty in his voice. “Capable, he gets mean. An’ he’s smart about it, too. If he aims to hurt, he’ll – he’ll strike out at whatever targets he can find, an’ he’ll hit ‘em. Too good of a Lancer not to.” His breath rasps, and his words rush. “Capable, I don’t want one of those targets to be _you.”_

“It won’t come to that.” There is steel beneath the softness of her Sister’s voice. “Furiosa has him under watch –”

“He knows the War Boys, he’ll talk them over –”

“Bessa and Selta and Morwen and Plush, there the ones keeping eyes on –”

“The Milk Mothers?” Nux’s voice forsakes raspy agony for genuine surprise. “Truly?”

“She’s given them guns,” Capable admits, and Cheedo squeezes her eyes shut. “They don’t – well, most of them don’t like it, and neither does Furiosa, but until we have our council with him, it’s all we can do.”

“Council?”

“We are not Things, and no longer are we Wives.” Cheedo hears her Sister pause, a slow inhale as she measures out her words. “We must try to be Leaders now. And Leaders, they talk, try to strike deals –”

“Slit likes deals,” Nux murmurs. “Or – he liked them when they worked well for him. But barterin’ when he’s at the short end? Gets nasty. He’s at the short end here, he knows that.”

There another pause, then –

“Why was he your friend?” Capable is gentle in her curiosity, but Cheedo knows her Sister well enough to hear the incomprehension edging the words. “I’m not – I would never say you were _wrong_ to rescue him, Nux, _never_ that, but – he doesn’t sound –”

“Slit ain’t a friend,” Nux says, and he sounds surprised. “War Boys aren’t supposed to have mates.”

 _“Not supposed to_ is different from what really is,” Capable says gently. “It’s alright if you were, Nux. I just…the two of you, you seem so different. And you wanted to save him –”

“He’s my Lancer,” Nux says softly, as though this explains everything. Perhaps it does, to a War Boy. Cheedo and Capable, Toast and the Dag, they cannot understand a War Boy’s life anymore than the Wars Boys can understand a Once Wife’s. Neither of them are Things, yes, but…the Immortan snared them and scarred them in different ways.

Silence echoes through the Vault, and then there’s a soft exhale. “Nux, do you think we can work with him? Do you think there’s a chance?”

Cheedo can hear his shrug in his voice, small and timid in a way he only lets it be around Capable. “I…I _want_ there to be. Is that rust, wrong?”

“It’s hope.” There’s a faint noise like the press of skin upon skin, lips touching cheek, and Nux gives a small noise, soft and grateful. Capable continues on, pensive in the darkness. “But for now…we just have to see if that hope can put down roots. The council will give us an idea.”

There’s a slight shifting. “You an’ and the Sisters an’ Furiosa, not me. If Slit sees me –”

“He’ll need to get used to you –”

“Let him do that on his terms –”

“His terms had your skull almost cracked,” Capable says, and there’s a sharpness in her voice that has never been there before.

Cheedo closes her eyes once more at that memory, that angry red gash on Nux’s skull, but he only chuckles, dry as sand, rough as rust. “I’ve got worse than that from people other than Slit, Capable.”

“I know that, I just…” There’s a soft sigh, a wariness tracing her words. “I don’t want you to think you _deserve_ that. Slit wasn’t _right_ to hurt you, I don’t want you to let him –”

“I won’t.” There’s a pause, and now it is Capable who makes the soft and grateful noise. Nux continues on, his voice low. “But I _did_ do him wrong, Capable. War Boy wrong. I took Valhalla away. You saw what that did to me, three times denied. If you wanna have him get used to me, seein’ me…don’t have me at the council. It will distract him, get his head hot. He won't listen to you then.”

“Where will you let him see you?”

“With the rest of the War Boys. In the Garages. It will be better that way, familiar grounds. Won’t shift out from under his feet too much.”

There’s silence, then a sigh. “If you’re sure…what if he attacks you there too?”

She can hear the shrug in his voice once more. “War Boys might back me up.”

“Giving aid to He Who Returned From The Wreckage.” Capable’s voice isn’t dry, but a soft thing winding through the darkness. “I could ask Furiosa to keep eyes on for you.”

Nux shifts, his voice strained, almost uncomfortable. “She’s got other things to worry about ‘sides me –”

“You aren’t a Thing, Nux.” There’s a pause, and then a low, shivery sound comes from Nux that has Cheedo’s eyes widening and her fingers creeping to her ears to block out any other noises if her Sister continues to comfort her War Boy like this –

“You aren’t a Thing, but we would keep you safe,” Capable murmurs, the soft chafe of a hand stroking skin under her voice. Cheedo hopes it is a back being rubbed. “Furiosa. Toast and the Dag and Cheedo. Me. Let us help you, Nux, _please_.”

Silence again and then a sigh like the wind. “Won’t tell you what to do, but…seeing me with his Immortan’s Wives ain’t gonna soften him to me none. If you wanna keep eyes on, do it so he can’t see you.” His voice gets almost hard, urgent and fierce. _“Don’t give him any targets.”_

“We won’t.” There’s the rustle of linen, and Cheedo knows her Sister is tucking him in tight to her. “But we are going to fight for you. You deserve to be fought for, Nux.”

“Chrome stuff is fought for, not rubbishy rust,” Nux mumbles, and Cheedo wants to weep. _Can he truly not see himself for what he is?_

Thankfully her Sister knows how to handle her words as well as her War Boy.

“Like I said…” Capable murmurs, voice low and loving, “…you deserve to be fought for.”

Cheedo does not know which is sweeter, the sentiment or the silence that follows. No matter how her stomach twists with fear, her heart glows with the warmth of bearing witness to this moment.

Capable continues on, soft and pondering. “He _could_ help us, truly. He could give us another way to reach the War Boys, stubborn ones like him. And Toast said that even if he was kami-crazy, the way others talk about him would make him good to have in a tight spot. Those are due to come.”

 _“Toast_ said that?”

There’s a smile in Capable’s voice. “Amongst other things. But…first we will need to find out just what he was doing in the Waste. He might have a harsh hand now, but he was able to get a car from Gas Town and guns. The Town wouldn’t just pass those along. Even if it turns out he stole it all…” Capable’s voice softens even further, gentling at the news she must give, “…he _could_ prove to be a danger.”

“If he is?” Nux sounds torn between wariness and acceptance. “What will you do?”

“The council will come to a decision.” There’s the rasp of a hand passing over a shorn skull. “As Furiosa said we would. And you’ll help us make it, Nux.”

“I brought him here, had him healed. You shouldn’t trust me to make the call.” Nux’s voice is the exhausted emptiness of a starved tank, rough and low. “Don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

Cheedo can practically feel how _tight_ her sister’s throat is when she answers. “You’re one of the strongest people I know, Nux, and I –”

There’s a shuddery breath, and her Sister continues on, her voice quaking only the littlest bit. “And I trust you, from here to…to Valhalla.”

There’s a quick inhale and then murmurings of “ _Capable”, “shine,”_ and _“chrome can’t compare…”_ and Cheedo truly wishes that either she could find sleep or that they would, it’s not _right_ for her to hear them like this –

But murmurs are all that happens, and soon only soft breathing and wind against the dome of the Vault is heard. Cheedo breathes in and out, soft and slow, and turns to check on the Dag.

And of course she is wide awake, pale eyes shining like the moon. “From here to Valhalla…” she whispers. “Awful long way to trust someone. If it were anyone but Nux, I’d call it thick.”

Cheedo nods. Trust and hope are so hard to do, but they can’t begrudge their Sister for finding Nux, who makes both so easy. “Two days till the council. Daggy, I don’t know if I should be –”

“You’re a Sister, and a Leader,” the Dag says with a kindness she only spares for Cheedo. “You ought to be there, healing that schlanger so. At the very least you can watch when Furiosa forces him to tell you _thanks very much_.”

“No one should be forced into thanking someone,” Cheedo murmurs, and _oh_ , it is foolish of her, to have such deep talks when she is so _sleepy_ , her eyes weighing so heavy. “D’you think he’ll come to our side? Is it foolish to hope?”

The Dag presses a kiss to Cheedo’s cheek and tugs her close, back pressing against breast and silver hair spilling over dark. “Ain’t foolish to hope,” the Sister of her Heart murmurs. “But to hope for _this_ …”

She sighs, low and weary, and Cheedo bites her lip as she continues. “Hope is a bright thing because it _burns_. Sometimes gentle, sometimes not. And sometimes…you get scorched if you aren’t careful. If that’s the case…maybe that’s a flame you ought to douse nice and quick.”

Some think it’s safer to be cynical. Smarter. The Dag is one of the smartest people Cheedo knows.

But as the Vault is filled with soft sighs, the Dag drifting off as well, and Cheedo’s eyes truly begin to fall…

She can’t help but have hope anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter update, but wanted to give you some Nux and Capable sweetness before we get back to the nitty and gritty situation with dear old Lizard King =)
> 
> It should be pretty obvious now, but this fanfic is on HIATUS. But I promise you, IT WILL BE RETURNED TO/COMPLETED. Life has given me a lot to deal with, and I've been focusing on other fanfics as well. Sometimes that just happens.


	5. Council

As a Wife she had certain privileges – water, beds, books, bathing – that the Immortan saw fit to bestow upon his treasures. _Freedoms_ , he called them, as if their gilded cage could stop them from remembering true freedom, sun and wind burning at their skin, _theirs_ , unbranded and untainted by his crest—

But entering a Chamber like this was not one of them.

And so while the wait for Furiosa and Slit to appear makes her heart thud like a drum, Cheedo also watches with wide eyes, curiosity making them track every crevice of the Chamber. _A Chamber for their Council, they are now a Council—_

The Immortan had kept Council with Bullet Farm and Gas Town, though the Dag mutters that those were more Commands than Council. Still, Cheedo cannot help but wonder if he had kept one of them in here, this very spot, the Citadel has so many rooms.

So many rooms, and they still do not know where Furiosa is keeping him, and Cheedo knows that she has kept it that way for a reason. To keep them safe? To stop them from seeking him out? Cheedo wonders if anyone could be so mad as to seek out that— _him._

_We are not things, they are not things, even if someone scares you they are not a thing—_

The War Boys and Pups, perhaps. He was–is–one of their own, after all, and bonds are bonds even when forged through insanity. Secluded, Slit is charred rage, scary but only smoldering. With others he could spark a fire, gain power, ruin ruin ruin everything they’ve worked for, burn and char and wreak it all—

Warm hands touch hers, the skin lovely brown and once soft but now worn from counting bullets and rough work. The Immortan never would have tolerated a Wife who was not soft. Toast’s lips twist when Cheedo looks at her, but her eyes hold a gentle kind of understanding. “Hold those thoughts, Cheedo,” she commands quietly. “We can damn near hear the clink of them.”

Toast had intimidated Cheedo when she had first come to the Vault – taken from the Wasteland, knowing things that Cheedo could scarcely wrap her head around, preferring to keep to herself when she can. But a Sister is a Sister is a Sister, and Cheedo is grateful. She wraps her hand around Toast’s. “Did Furiosa say how long it will take?”

The Dag quirks a shoulder and slides those pale eyes to the door of Chamber. “For them to get here? Could be ages. War Boy might not want to come.”

Toast rolls her eyes. “Don’t think he’s gonna be given a choice.”

“Bessa and Morwen are with her,” says a soft voice. The Milk Mother - Plush, and Cheedo thinks such a name is appropriate, she looks so soft and warm - leans her elbows onto the table. Perhaps she was a Once Wife before a Milker, her hair a dark cloud of curls, her skin velvety gold, her body large and lovely. She continues on, looking around the table. “They offered their guns. That should convince the War Boy to walk with them.”

“Marching orders are marching orders,” rumbles a War Boy, though too old to be a Boy, Cheedo thinks. His shoulders are a ruin of scars and knots, his entire left side pebbled with lumps, the reason he was not on the Road. “Especially when an Imperator gives them.”

“But if Slit is the one who should heed them orders…” the War Boy to his right lets his words trail off. He is younger, has goggles on even in the shadow of the Chamber, but they do nothing to keep his face from showing his feelings at such a prospect.

Again the dread resurfaces in Cheedo, her heart hammering anew, and Capable looks at both of them with those steady eyes. “He hasn’t listened before?”

The one with the goggles raises a shoulder. “He listens. But he listens best when he wants to hear.”

“He’ll want to hear this,” Capable says, sweeping her braids back. Cheedo would envy her confidence but spies her Sister’s hands twisting into the fabric of her skirt. The sight sends a sharp spasm down her spine, and why is it so hard to breathe--?

The War Boys lean as one onto the table, and knotty one looks back and forth between her Sisters, his gaze weathered and wary. “What is _this_? A deal? The Imperator must have a deal ready, Slit works well with ‘em—”

_Unless he gets the short end._ Cheedo licks her lips, and Toast and the Dag look to Capable as they had once looked to Angharad.

Capable returns the War Boy’s gaze, and her voice is calm. “We shall all find out. We are all equals in this.”

A pause, then the War Boy nods and leans back into his chair, and Plush nods as well, her dark eyes looking around the table.

Cheedo breathes out, slow and shaky. Her Sister is wise – it would not do to play about being privy to information from Furiosa, make the War Boys and Milk Mothers think they were being kept away, kept out. They are all equals on this Council, chosen for a reason, and they must – will – work together.

Toast suddenly slides off the table to cross to her chair, her eyes tight on the door, the tendons of her neck tense. “I hear them.”

Everyone at the table sits up in their chairs, watching the door, eyes on eyes on eyes on, and Cheedo takes the Dag’s hand under the table, nails piercing flesh. _Cheedo the Councilor, Cheedo the Ready Or Not, Here He Comes—_

The Dag squeezes back, then--

Furiosa enters the room, her spine straight and strong, face collected and calm, and then—

Between Bessa and another Milk Mother Cheedo has not yet met but must be Morwen, guns trained on him and hands chained up, is Slit.

His burns have improved since she last laid eyes on him, and his stitches are not yet torn out, but these are small mercies. His black teeth bared in a snarl, his gaze a hot and hateful thing as he walks into the room, scorching them all under it. Cheedo bites the inside of her cheek when it reaches her, and the bitterness of her blood is _nothing_ in comparison to what rolls of him. _Trapped, and he knows it and he hates it._

Furiosa nods to Milk Mothers before pulling out her own gun and locking it on him as she moves, smooth and slow, to her chair. Cheedo has the strangest thought in that it’s a good thing this is a round table, no corners to get caught on—

_Impaled on, more like, if this War Boy has his way_ —

She stamps on the thought like a boot with a bug as Furiosa sits down and nods once more, and Morwen pulls out another chair and Bessa makes a slight motion with her gun, her face flat.

Slit glares at her, glares around the whole table once more, before slowly sitting down, those mismatched eyes never leaving Furiosa’s.

Bessa and Morwen join Plush where she sits, and Furiosa finally sets her gun down on top of the table. Her voice is even. “We have questions for you.”

The horrible rasp that’s his laugh leaves his ruined mouth, and Cheedo barely keeps her shiver back. “Bet you do, Queen Traitor.”

Furiosa only looks at him, cool and calm. “Call me what you want, but you will answer me.”

She then nods to Capable, who brings out the canteen as planned and slides it across the table to him, steady as ever, her braids burning in the light. “An offering.”

Slit moves his eyes away from Furiosa to her, and Cheedo marvels at her Sister’s strength, bearing his baleful look without the slightest flinch, meeting his gaze straight on.  

His snarl drops to a sneer, and it isn’t any better. “Of what?”

“Water.” The whole table is watching, but Capable is calm. “You must be thirsty.”

Slit leans back in his chair, his chains clanking, still sporting that sneer. “War Boys ain’t weak like the Wretched. We’re used to thirst.”

“You don’t have to be anymore. The Wretched get regular water now, and so do War Boys.” Capable sits back in her chair. “In our Citadel, everyone does. We work as one, and we will grow as one.”

Slit glares at her. “You’ll die as one, Wife.”

_“We are not Wives.”_ Toast glares back at him, her fingers curling into fists. “She is Capable, she’s the Dag, she’s Cheedo—”

The Dag gives him a mocking wave, and Cheedo hunches up her shoulders and looks away when Slit looks at her, her face hot.

“––and I am Toast.” Toast’s chest is heaving hot, her face blazing and bright. “We have names. We are not Things, and we are not Wives. We are Leaders, and you will remember that. Now d’you want the ruddy drink or not?”

Furiosa holds up her metal hand, and Toast holds, though she still glares at Slit. “The water is an offer. It is also an oath. You drink it, we drink it, and no harm will come to you at this table. You’ll listen to our questions, and we will answer yours. Deal?”

Slit narrows his eyes at her. Sudden and swift, he grabs the canteen off of the table and works at the top with his teeth. The water sings its gurgling song as he slugs it down, his throat working with each swallow, the black line of his stitches jumping. Cheedo can see it trickling from the jagged line of his scar, dripping from the staples, and she quickly looks away.  

Finished, Slit slings the canteen back onto the table, his snarl back, but Furiosa only calmly takes it and drinks from it as well before passing it around the table. When it reaches her, Cheedo can barely take a sip, her stomach is so troubled and tense, tight tight tight. _The deal is struck, and heaven only knows what that will bring..._

Furiosa corks the canteen and leans forward. “You came from Gas Town. How did you get the car and the guns?”

Slit glares at her, and his words are torn things, shredded between his teeth. “Worked for ‘em.”

Furiosa tilts her head, her voice flat. “And?”

Slit’s gaze is hot with hate, his voice low with loathing. “And I promised them water.”

The table murmurs, and Capable leans forward, her face intent. “They can trade with us for water, trust us for it—“

“Trust?” Slit throws his head back and laughs, long and loud, and it is horrible to hear. “Trust don’t mean nothin’, Red One. Power does.”

The Dag scoffs, dry as dirt. “And you planned to take the Citadel with _that_? One car and a few guns and Power?”

There’s a new poison in his eyes as Slit’s gaze snaps to her, and not for the first time Cheedo wishes the Sister of her heart would guard her mouth.

Furiosa watches them, watches all. “Even before the Buzzards attacked, it was a doomed plan. You’re not stupid, Slit. And it would be stupid to wage war against us.”

Slit snarls. “You’re the stupid one, Queen Traitor. Y’think they’re loyal to you there? Y’think Bullet Farm is? You might have the Citadel, but not them. ‘S only a matter of time–“

The War Boy with goggles leans forward. “She shredded Joe, Slit. By rights, the Citadel is hers. Bullet Farm and Gas Town ought to know that.”

Slit looks at him, looks at the other knotty War Boy, and Cheedo sees those mismatched eyes widen.

Then they narrow, and his voice is venom. “I’m keepin’ company with a bunch of bloody traitors today, eh? Skalis and Sightless, worthless War Boys, finally finding purpose under her ruddy rule—“

“Hold on—“

“It ain’t like that, Slit—“

“You can wage war with each other later,” Furiosa says, cool and keen. “I have other questions. Did you have backup in this plan?”

Slit glares at the War Boys – Skalis and Sightless, and Cheedo thinks she now knows why the War Boy need not remove his goggles – before he spits his next words. “Wasn’t gonna do it that day. Was out scoutin’ when the Buzzards came. If you lot didn’t find any of them, reckon the Buzzards took ‘em.”

Taken as a Buzzard Slave. Cheedo can scarcely imagine it – at least the Vault had been comfortable.

Furiosa leans her elbows on the table and laces her hands together, metal and meat. “So the Farm and the Town may still be waiting to unite against the Citadel.”

Slit sneers. “Ask _them_ , Queen Traitor.”

“Most like they’re not.” Bessa sniffs and shoots Slit a look. “Most like when this one got wreaked, they figured it was a bloody lost cause. Hells, they may have just sent him on a song and dance, wanting him away from them, feedin’ him any kinds of lies—“

Slit _snarls_ at her and stands, fierce and fast—

Cheedo gasps, grabbing the Dag and ready to duck under the table—

Furiosa has her gun out and on him, but her voice is steady. “Don’t make me go back on my word, Slit. We drank the water. No harm comes to any of us.”

“No unnecessary deaths,” Capable affirms, looking at him levelly. She then turns to Furiosa. “Do you have any more questions?”

Furiosa shakes her head. “I’ll ask them of Bullet Farm and Gas Town.” She lowers her gun and raises a brow at Slit. “What about you?”

Slit is breathing heavily, in out in out in out. He looks at Furiosa, and for the first time during the council, his eyes do not show rage but confusion. “What?”

“Do you have any questions?” Furiosa repeats as she sits down into her chair. She places the gun back on the table top, the movement measured. “What do you want to know?”

The look on Slit’s face is something Cheedo has never seen before, and she wonders if he has ever been asked something like this before—

Then the look is gone and the glare is back. “Where’s Nux?”

Cheedo closes her eyes in horror. _Please no please no please no—_

Capable’s voice is clear and calm. “He is safe. He did not attend this Council because he did not want to upset you. You’ll see him later.” There’s the rustle of linen, and Cheedo opens her eyes to see her Sister leaning across the table to look at Slit head on. “If you hurt him, we send you to the Waste.”

Slit glowers at her. “Ain’t afraid of that. Better to die there then keep company with you.”

“But you don’t have to.” Furiosa leans across the table, her expression serious. “Slit, all that has changed has changed for the better. You can find purpose here. Work in the Garages, keep at being a Lancer. We could use you.”

Skalis nods. “You’re wanted, mate, if you’re willing.”

Slit looks between them, and glory be, there’s a considering slant to his black brow—

 Then it’s marred with a scowl. “Why would I want? Why would I be willing?” He sits in his chair and crosses his arms, though the chain at his wrists tangles up a bit. His scowl is scornful. “How can I use _you_?”

_“Slit likes deals. Or – he liked them when they worked well for him. But barterin’ when he’s at the short end? Gets nasty. He’s at the short end here, he knows that.”_

Furiosa says nothing, and Cheedo can see her Sisters look at one another, the same question in their eyes, wide and worried. _What can we offer him?_

The silence stretches stretches stretches, and Slit’s face is growing grimmer still, a muscle tensing in his ruined jaw, the slash of his scar so—

And suddenly, Cheedo has it, the thought striking through her so swift she’s breathless.

Before she even realizes it, her hand flutters into the air, a baby bird with weak wings, timid and testing.

Furiosa looks to her, her brow lowering in confusion, but she nods. And now everyone’s eyes are on her, everyone’s, her Sisters and the Milk Mothers and the War Boys and Slit—

Slit, whose brow creases when he looks at her, just like last time, like he’s never seen anything like her—

Cheedo cannot look at him, cannot bear to see such ruin, such rage. Instead, she focuses her eyes on the middle of the table, trace the scars there, wood instead of flesh. That sip of water seems ages ago, her mouth so parched with nerves, her tongue getting in the way of her thoughts, this idea—

_Angharad would know what to say—_

She straightens her shoulders and raises her chin, but keeps her eyes on the table, addressing the grain of the wood. “The Immortan gave us books. He wished us to be educated.”

Her voice is as dry and soft as sand, and she clenches her hands in her lap, knuckles white. But the Dag places one hand over hers, soft and strong, and out of the corner of her eyes she can see Toast nodding, and Cheedo is able to continue on, thanks be. “There’s…there’s medicine in them. Not many, but enough. Enough to help me in the Healing Hold. I haven’t read all of them, and I’m still learning, but…” she looks to Furiosa, eyes earnest. “But I can find ways, ways of healing War Boys. Return them to something more than half-life. I _know_ I can.”

She looks down and takes a deep breath before her words rush out, spill from her like sand. “If you stay, I can work on you. Heal you. But only if you listen to Furiosa and not harm Nux.”

There is silence over the whole table, all of them considering the weight of her words, _are they worthy enough_ —?

“You’re the one.”

His words so surprise Cheedo that she actually looks at him, wide eyed.

Slit’s face is a study as he stares at her with those mismatched eyes, unreadable and scarred. “The one what worked on me before. Brought me back. Took Valhalla away.”

“She took _nothing_ , schlanger,” the Dag retorts, glaring at him. “She gave you your half-life back, more than what you deserve—“

“Bessa helped,” Cheedo interjects, her miserable mouth making it into a mumble, feeling foolish, so very foolish, _why_ did she think such an offer would work—?

But Bessa shakes her head and turns to Slit, her face unimpressed and unafraid. “Rot away if it pleases you. Keep your scars and your stitches and soreness, and walk the Waste till you wither away.” She leans towards him. “Or you can make the sensible choice and heed what this girl offers you, War Boy.”

“She’s a softer touch than the Organic, to hear the Pups talk of it,” murmurs Sightless.

 Cheedo is spared surprise at this – _the Pups talk about her?_ – by Furiosa holding up her hand, making all talk stop.

She then extends it, holding it out to Slit, her eyes meeting his. “In this Citadel, we are given choices,” she says, and her words are almost a murmur. “You can choose your fate, Slit. What will it be?”

Slit stares at her hand and then at her, his eyes narrowed. “I stay here…?”

“You get food and water, work in the Garages again, and be a Lancer once more.”

His eyes narrow further. “At your bloody call.”

Furiosa’s face is blank, but her hand stays up. “Yes. But I am not the Immortan.”

Slit looks around the table, a scowl twisting his scars further still, and Cheedo tries not to flinch when he looks at her, he stares so hard. His breath leaves him in a harsh _huff_ , and Cheedo can smell its bitterness from where she sits.  Everyone waits, waits for his words, for damnation or deliverance—

Slit does not give them words. Instead, chains trailing across the table, he claps his hand into Furiosa’s, his gaze still hard.

There is a soft wind through the Chamber, the exhale of many breaths, and Cheedo feels her heart hammer again, but now with hope. _She did it she did it she did it, he has surrendered, there are safe—_

Slit bares his teeth at Furiosa. “No more chains. No more Milk Mothers with guns. And I get my brace back.”

Furiosa nods, eyes cool. “You do anything against us, the deal is off.”

Maybe not so safe.

Furiosa stands, and so does everyone, Slit eyeing them all as he rises, his hands now at the chain between them, his fingers curling and flexing around the links. Furiosa holds out a hand to Bessa, who passes her something. Furiosa walks to Slit, who watches her approach with flared nostrils and wary eyes, but she only unlocks his chains. They fall to the floor with a rusty clacking clatter that echoes throughout the Chamber, and Furiosa silently gestures to the door.

Slit stands for a moment, watching her still with his mismatched eyes. Then he turns on his heel and walks out of the Chamber, the light passing over his scars, shadowed and highlighted. The thud of his boots fades down the hall, and Cheedo lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. _Over, it’s over, glory be…_

“I want eyes on in the Garages,” Furiosa murmurs, her own eyes still on the door. “Him talking to any War Boys, gathering groups, sending sign to the Town or to the Farm, anything…you report to me.”

Skalis and Sightless nod and leave the Chamber. Furiosa turns to the Milk Mothers. “Eyes on for you as well. I want all to keep alert.”

Plush speaks. “Can we give the guns back now?”

Furiosa nods, her eyes softening. “Yes. Thank you for keeping watch over him, Plush. Take them to the Armory, have them locked down.” She then looks to Cheedo and her Sisters. “I need to speak with Cheedo.”

Capable crosses the floor, her eyes intent. “As do I.”

The Milk Mothers leave, and Cheedo looks at her Sisters and Furiosa with wide eyes, wariness and weariness a war within her. Suddenly, she can’t keep her words back. “I know it’s a weak offer, I _know_ , but we have nothing else to give him and we had to offer _something_ —“

“Cheedo,” Furiosa says gently, “hold. The offer is a good one.”

Cheedo’s stammer of words stop, and she looks around at them, all of them. “It…it is?”

The Dag loops an arm around her in a hug, letting Cheedo tuck her head against her neck, and Toast nods encouragingly. “He took notice of it, didn’t he?”

Capable is worrying her lower lip with her teeth, making the flesh rosy. “Where did you find such books, Cheedo? Were they always in the Vault? Did Miss Giddy show them to you?”

Cheedo flushes. “I…I may have…taken a few. From the Organic’s hold.”

“He ain’t around to complain about that,” Toast replies wryly.

“Nor was that filth interested in healing anyone,” the Dag adds. “Not truly. Just keeping them sharp enough for Dear Old Daddy Joe. You can be the one to truly make something of those books, Cheedo.”

Furiosa listens to them, careful and considering. “How far do you think you can heal them? They’ll never be full life.”

Cheedo breathes deep then exhales, long and gusty. “I don’t know.” She meekly raises a shoulder. “But…Slit doesn’t have to know _that_ , does he?”

That brings smiles to her Sisters faces and makes Furiosa nod at her in approval. The Dag pets at her hair, eyes happy and sly. “Cheedo the Canny. No War Boy Schlanger is a match for you.”

Capable smiles as well, but her eyes are serious. “If other War Boys hear that Slit is getting special healing, we may have to deal with that…”

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Furiosa says, calm and steady. “They’ve been patched them up before by Cheedo, this will be no different.” She looks to Cheedo, her gaze green and clear. “Keep safe. He tries anything, let me know.”

Cheedo nods, her heart fluttering fierce in her breast. She will need to take stock, get supplies ready, who knows what this War Boy will demand of her, ask her to heal—

“We can keep her company,” Toast offers. “Make sure she isn’t alone. Just to start with, at least.”

“He might chafe at having more than one of us around—“

“Keep eyes on,” the Dag intones. “Besides, we’re not exactly concerned with his comfort, are we?”

Cheedo brushes her hair back, her brain buzzing. “But we don’t need to provoke him anymore than we have to, do we?”

Furiosa nods, crossing her arms. “Fair points, all of them.” She sighs, looks around at them. “We wait. Give him a few days to get back into the Garages, on familiar ground. See how it goes.” She fixes her eyes on Cheedo. “Then you can meet with him and see what he wants healed.”

Cheedo thinks about that awful mouth, that horrible eye, the lumps and bumps and scars, and nods nervously. “I’ll keep you informed, Furiosa. All of you.” She has never hidden anything from her Sisters, there is no need to start now.

Furiosa clasps her shoulder, and then looks around at them again. Amazingly, a smile creeps slow and soft across her face. “Not awful for our first Council.”

There’s a rush of relief over the Sisters, Toast rolling her eyes but smiling and Cheedo feels the mad urge to giggle. The Dag throws her hands up in a mockery of the War Boys salute. “By our deeds, we managed to keep that smeg from killing anyone.”

“For now.” Furiosa looks back to the door, considering. “It’s better to keep enemies close. There would be more cause to worry if he chose the Waste, couldn’t track him there. Now that we have him here…”

“Eyes on,” Toast says, nodding firmly. “We won’t forget what he is.”

_Who he is._ Yet Cheedo knows better to correct her Sister, especially when her words carry such weight. He may not be a Thing, but Slit is dangerous. They cannot forget this _._

 Capable looks around them and then to the door, sighing. “I promised Nux I would let him know how the Council went…”

“I’ll go with you,” Toast offers. “I have something that might cheer your War Boy up.”

“That leaves me and you for planting,” the Dag says, looking to Cheedo.

But Cheedo shakes her head. “I need to start stocking if I’m going to be ready for Slit, read as much as I can—“

“Don’t forget to come up for air,” the Dag says, tucking a lock behind Cheedo’s ear and patting her back.

They leave one by one, and Cheedo stops to look around the Chamber once more. They have had their first Council. No longer Wives, but Leaders, advising and trusting each other—

_“Trust don’t mean nothin’, Red One. Power does.”_

 Cheedo frowns. Surely both can exist together. Besides, his raspy rough venom-voice is not welcome in her head.

She may have to heal him, but Cheedo intends to keep eyes on and as far away from this War Boy as she can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy...two years since I updated. I promise you, I wish I could have been writing for this instead of what I've been going through during that time! 
> 
> I hope there are those who are still interested in this story - your thoughts and comments mean so much to me!


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